yesterday."

"And what of that? Pray, what matters it to you?"

"Only this," said I, warming up, "that I would lay down my life any day
for Miss Kit; and it is for her sake, and for her alone, that I would be
sorry to see harm come to a man to whom I owe nothing but harshness and
injury."

I repented as soon as I had said the words, but he gave me no chance of
drawing back. He laughed dryly.

"So that's at the bottom of it? The son of a boatman and smuggler
aspires to be son-in-law to the owner of Knockowen and Kilgorman--a
pretty honour indeed!"

Here I flung all prudence to the winds, and glared in his face as I
said,--

"Suppose, instead of the son of a boatman and smuggler, the man who
loved your daughter were the son of him whose estates and fortune you
have stolen, what then, Mr Gorman?"

He looked at me attentively for a moment, and his face turned so white
that I thought him about to swoon. It was a moment or two before he
could master his tongue, and meanwhile he kept his eyes on me like a man
fascinated.

"Fool!" he gasped at last. "You don't know what you are talking about."
Then with a sudden recovery of composure, and in a voice almost
conciliatory, he added, "Miss Kit is about to visit her friends in
Dublin, and will not be back here for weeks. Take the advice of a
friend, Gallagher, and get away from these parts. To give you the
chance, you may, if you wish to serve me, ride to Malin instead of
Martin, and escort my daughter as far as Derry."

"Miss Kit might prefer some other escort," said I.

"She might. You are not bound to wait upon her. But I can give you a
pass if you do."

"When does she leave Malin?"

"To-morrow forenoon."

"And what of Tim if he is caught?" said I.

"Warn him to keep on Fanad. He will be safe there."

"Let the horse and the passport be ready as soon as it is dark to-
night," said I. "I will be here."

"Very good. And see here, Gallagher," said he, "what did you mean when
you said just now that I had stolen any one's land and fortune?"

"What should I mean?" said I. "It's an old story you've got hold of,"
said he, "that was disposed of twenty years ago by the clearest proofs.
Do you suppose, if you had been what you are foolish enough to imagine,
I would have brought you up in my own house, eh? Wouldn't it have been
simpler to drop you in the lough? It was only my esteem for your poor
mother, Mary Gallagher, that prevented my letting all the w